


one fish, two fish, silver blue fish

by delta6453



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (kinda), Canon Compliant, Festivals, Fish, Fluff and Angst, Fukuroudani, Pining, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta6453/pseuds/delta6453
Summary: Each year, Akaashi attends the summer festival. At least, now that he's in high school he does.And it occurs to him that festivals are far more than yakisoba and fireworks.





	1. Year 1

**Author's Note:**

> Goldfish scooping, for anyone who doesn't know what it is or how it's played: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2K87PSJfSnE

He saw the poster one sunny afternoon, on his way to the gym. The page had been hastily taped to the wall, a corner coming undone and curling over itself. He’d read it carefully, and, for some reason he hadn’t clearly understood, he’d clawed through his bag and pulled out a lined piece of paper and a pencil, noting down all the details attentively. And then he’d glanced down at his watch, panicked slightly, and shoved the things back into his bag. He’d run all the way to the changerooms because those were the days in which the club members were all intimidating and unknown and he hadn’t yet decided whether he wanted to keep going with the club at all. 

Anyways, he’d slipped into the room with sweat trickling down his brow and done his best to stifle the pants that were threatening to give him away. But then, as the teammates mumbled among themselves, a figure had thrown the door open, and through rough exhales exclaimed that he’d found something incredible. In his hand he had held a printed sheet, all crumpled and colorful and with one edge curled in on itself. 

Of course it was him, it would be. Akaashi’s heart pounded just a little faster. 

And that was that, the team was going to the festival Friday night whether Akaashi liked it or not. Because the self proclaimed future ace, Bokuto-san rather, said so and even if they groaned and complained, the team eventually always went along with his whims. In the little time he’d known the boy, Akaashi had realized he was a person who gravitated towards others. He was bigger than life, brighter than he had any right to be and maybe he didn’t gravitate towards others, they gravitated towards him. 

But it was all conjecture. What he’d gathered from afar. Either way, Akaashi’d never been this intrigued by someone who saw him as only another player on the court. And he’d never been this excited for a summer festival he’d intended to go to alone. 

His mother told him it would be an impossibly hot night, a sweltering sort that made flowers wilt and puddles dry up in less than a minute. And he twiddled his fingers and told her he didn’t mind even though she quipped an eyebrow at that, realizing at once he’d lied. She handed him a yukata and pushed him off into his own room. 

“Let yourself get caught in the storm once in a while, okay Keiji?” He’d marvelled once more at how well his mother knew him. And at how he was planning to do just that, even as he twiddled his fingers more than ever and chewed half moons into his lips. 

They were standing by a poplar tree in a big huddle, nudging each other in the ribs and joking about the captain’s affection for short skirts and even shorter yukatas. The other first years had placed themselves among the crowd like pieces of the same puzzle, weaved their way in so effortlessly that Akaashi couldn’t tell whether he was actually the only first year there or just the only one who couldn’t figure out how to do any of it. 

The captain led the group, and Akaashi held up the rear, looking dreamily at the stands and attractions. The chatter of his teammates slipped around him like currents about a smooth and unyielding rock and it didn’t bother him, he assured himself. A man handed off a stick of yakisoba, and Akaashi’s stomach rumbled. No, he stopped in his tracks, enthusiastic chatter fading, fading, gone, it didn’t bother him at all.

He sat on a bench for what felt like hours, sucking on the wooden stick and staring down at the dusty hem of his yukata. It was hot and loud and there were two hours until the fireworks. But he swayed his feet and figured that if his mother asked, he’d just tell her that it had been lovely and they’d all watched them together. He could almost picture the blue and red playing off their faces, wide mouths quirking into dumbfounded grins as the fireworks went off, one by one. Too bad he’d lost them. Too bad he’d never tried to stay with them in the first place. 

He wondered, futilely, how red and blue would look on gold. 

“Oh man, I knew we lost one! What are you doing here alone, first year?” Akaashi snapped his head back in disbelief. There he was, arms full of festival food and hair swooping upwards in chaotic peaks and mouth wide open in a grin. He climbed over the bench and sat down with a grunt, looking over the younger boy and the stick hanging halfway out of his mouth. “Oh, you’re that setter, huh? Akaji, right?!” 

Akaashi continued to stare, not finding the words with which to correct him. 

He frowned at the lack of response, throwing a candy into his mouth, crunching it between his teeth. “You can’t just sit around and miss the festival Akaji! Don’t you want to try some of the booths? There’s duck shooting, that booth with the sugar stencils, goldfish scooping… Why don’t we try some?” 

It wasn’t exactly red and blue, but the flickering festival lights dyed his irises a murky amber. They were close enough that he could see flecks of light dance the rims of his irises. And Akaashi finally nodded, dumbfounded, because Akaji was close enough and Bokuto was asking him to go together like it was only natural. 

“Great!” Bokuto stood, swinging his arms over his head in lazy arcs. He blinked twice, yawned. Looked back at Akaashi with brows raised and an elated smile. “Shall we get going then?” 

He nodded and followed. 

They traced a path through the festival by sight, flitting from one colorful booth to another, anything that caught Bokuto’s eye. And he’d ask questions all the while, easy ones like where Akaashi was from and what his mother did for work and how he was liking Fukurodani so far. 

Akaashi had no trouble answering, as the night passed and he slowly came to understand Bokuto wasn’t the sort of person who’d care whether he stumbled over a word or said the wrong thing. No, he’d peek over the barrel of the gun at the duck shooting booth, smile and exclaim ‘Wow, that’s so cool Akaji!’ regardless what he answered.

Bang. He’d shoot, and the duck would fall, and the grumpy stall owner would hand over another prize. 

Then he started to ask harder questions and Akaashi really began to stumble. Questions like what he thought the stars meant and whether he thought rocks had souls. In retrospect, Bokuto had been asking any question that came to mind, trying his best to communicate with the most withdrawn first year that year. He hadn’t been waiting for any meaningful answer. He hadn’t been waiting for anything at all. 

Yet Akaashi thought too hard and stuttered and given hasty, meaningless answers. He’d felt completely idiotic when Bokuto’s eyes had widened and his nose had crinkled in thought because, clearly, Akaashi hadn’t thought up the right answer. He lowered his gaze to his feet, but the dusty ground and stagnant air offered little respite. The fireworks would start any minute, said the excited murmur of the crowd to his left and the restlessness of his companion to the right.

They finally sat down on a bench under a large tarp, having travelled almost the entire stretch of the festival. Away from the bustle of the crowd, where Akaashi could finally breathe a sigh of relief and gather his thoughts.  
It swept through the crowd like a jolt of electricity, the hush of anticipation. Until even Bokuto stopped speaking and stared into the night sky, waiting for something to happen. For something to sizzle and pop and fall back to Earth in a shower of sparks. 

“Why?” asked Akaashi, licking at his dry lips as he searched the sky and found nothing. “Why go out of your way to spend time with me when you could spend it with them?” 

Bokuto turned and frowned at Akaashi. “Why wouldn’t I? I just wanted to get to know you, and it seemed like the perfect time. You’re a cool guy, you know?”

But the words were foreign to his ears, and he scoffed in spite of himself. He’d been called a lot of things. Withdrawn, freak, good for nothing beyond his face. Maybe even cool, but it was always followed by a sneer. And a coy voice telling him to not take it as a compliment, it hadn’t been meant that way. 

His shoes swam the more he looked at them. “I don’t believe it,” he mumbled. “You don’t have to worry about me, you can go back and spend the rest of the night with them, I’m fine on my own.” 

Sizzle. Pop. And the sparks fell down, down, down. 

“But thanks anyways, Bokuto-san.” He stood, averted his gaze. It’d been a good night. Better than he could have ever imagined. “I really enjoyed this, but I think it’s time to- ” 

“Wait, wait!” Bokuto grasped his hand, pulling him backwards. Akaashi stumbled, struggling to keep his face averted and surprise hidden. Another firework burst overhead, the growing crowd cheered. But the other boy was shifting, standing, looking away from the fireworks and towards him instead. “What the hell are you talking about Akaji?! Why would I ever spend time with someone I don’t like?” 

I don’t know, he wanted to say, because that’s how it usually was. Large intricate jokes played at his expense. But the fireworks continued to soar, and he couldn’t find a single word sitting on the tip of his tongue. 

“Come,” the other tugged at his arm, slipping easily through the mass of people, “let me show you something.” Away from the glittering lights and oohs and ahs they walked, away from the unguarded smiles and the wave of quixotic bliss that’d swept over them all. To a single unremarkable booth at the edge of the festival. Akaashi stared up, at the sign in blue bubbly letters. 

“Any fish you catch are yours! 100 yen for 5 paddles.” 

He screwed up his eyebrows in thought. “What is this?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” called Bokuto, already searching through the paddles, “it’s just my favorite booth ever! I mean, I never catch any fish, but that’s not the point. Who doesn’t love fish!?” 

“I didn’t mean that, really. Why bring me here?” 

He paid 200 yen and handed Akaashi 5 paddles. “I answered that already, everybody loves fish!” He chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. “Now let’s take turns and see if either of us have what it takes to catch one of these bad boys.” 

Bokuto thrust his paddle in the water, and pouted when it, inevitably, melted into shreds as he pulled it out. Akaashi swished his pallet through the water, tongue sticking from his mouth in concentration and failed just as miserably. Only on their fifth tries did either catch a fish. And, to Akaashi’s surprise, it was Bokuto, who was by then gripping his pallet hard enough to break the brittle wood. 

“Yes!” cried Bokuto, grabbing the bagged fish from the stall owner and then Akaashi’s hands, “did you see that?! I caught one, this is the first time ever!” Akaashi frowned, staggered, as the other jumped up and down, shaking the poor fish into a frenzy.

“Bokuto-san… the fish,” Akaashi struggled out. Oh, right, stopped and chuckled the other abashedly, and Akaashi grabbed his last pallet with trembling hands, forcing his lips out of that grin they seemed so intent upon. 

Bokuto led them back to the bench, but the fireworks had ended and the crowd had dispersed. So they walked in almost silence, as the slap of shoes on concrete and the chirping of crickets in the underbrush were the only sounds left that night. Bokuto squinted up at the little black fish in the plastic bag, surveying its elongated fins. “I think I’ll name it Kuroo. It looks like him.” He stopped under a lamp. “Yeah, kinda shifty and cunning and everything. You remember Kuroo, right?” 

Vaguely, he remembered the strangeness of his smile and his hair and the fact that he’d thought the guy had seemed like a pretty cool player, all things considered. He remembered how much fun he seemed to have with Bokuto, the two dragging along a little blond setter and a different Fukurodani setter every night to some secret gym Akaashi had never figured out the location of. 

“He was at the summer training camp, right?” 

“You didn’t meet him?” Akaashi shook his head, and Bokuto’s eyes lit up. “So, me and him found this really cool gym. We’re calling it Third Gym. And we brought Kenma, he’s Kuroo’s kid friend, and some other people, and we practiced aaall night.” He placed a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “The setters didn’t like it, but it was super fun! We’re totally gonna do it next year too.” 

“…Sounds great.” 

“You should come, you know.” He gazed up into the sky, eyebrows knit in thought. “We’d make a good team, me and you. You would be like the, uh, shadow to my light?” He chuckled, scratching at his head. “That’s not really what I meant.” 

Akaashi understood either way. Or he liked to think he did. He glanced up at the starless sky too. 

“Hey…” Bokuto’s footsteps fell out of rhythm, slowed, stopped. Akaashi looked back, and for once he wasn’t the one staring. “I think I just had a great idea. You want to be my partner? You know, you’ll be setter and I’ll be the ace. Even better, I’ll be captain, and you’ll be vice captain! What do you think?” 

Akaashi thought his eyes were starry enough to make up for the lackluster sky. 

“I…” 

“Is this about the other guys? I’ll convince them all, they can’t say no to me! I mean, they can, but I don’t really care what most of them say!” He folded his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes. “The captain doesn’t understand anything anyways.” 

That wasn’t the issue, Akaashi thought. They weren’t even in the same year. They’d known for each other, really known each other, for less than a night. When the magic wore off and the sun and the blistering heat returned, surely he’d return to his senses. 

Who would want a partner like him? 

Bokuto stomped his feet and ruffled his hands through his hair at the silence. “C’mon Akaji, I promise we’ll make an unbeatable pair! Just believe in me, and uh… Oh!” He ran over excitedly, pushing the fish into Akaashi’s hands. “I’ll give you Kuroo and you’ll promise to be my partner! It’s a good deal, huh? It’ll be like our unbreakable pact.” 

“O-okay,” he finally sighed, even if it went against everything he knew. “Okay.” 

“Great!” As if he’d suddenly realized the weight of his words, he stepped back clumsily. “I… gotta go, but let’s talk again tomorrow. Nice to meet you Akaji!” He skipped away, away from the empty festival ground and the dimming lights. “I had a great time!” 

Akaashi gripped the bag tight and stared into the distance, into the direction he’d gone. He never did figure out how red and blue looked on gold. 

The very next day, another tepid Saturday, Akaashi ran all the way to the convenience store and bought the first fish bowl he could find, a paltry little plastic thing worth 10000 yen. Still breathing roughly, he’d filled the tank and dumped Kuroo in and hoped for the best. He laughed breathily when the little fish seemed to dart from one end to the other, happy with its new home. There was their promise, alive and happy and not a disappearing act at all. 

Three days later, Bokuto learned Akaashi’s name wasn’t actually Akaji. His eyes widened, and he turned spitefully towards Akaashi. The rest of the team laughed for an entire practice, and Akaashi encountered his Dejected Mode outside of a game for the first time ever. Teammates joked that the stunt would cause Bokuto to lose his little first year admirer and glimpsed over at Akaashi pitifully. But Akaashi found he didn’t mind as much as they’d expected him to. As long as Bokuto willed it, he would never be the first to leave. 

Akaashi only stuck closer to the other from that day forward.


	2. Year 2

He found himself staring at the same poster he’d been staring at a year ago. Or so it felt, the font and the information were the same, the colors and the crinkled corner were not. 

The heat that burned his arms and ears and deep inside his chest, could the sun truly reach such recesses, were all the same. And trying to keep the grin off his face, he took down the details on a single piece of lined paper and ran off to the gym. 

“Oh, there you are,” clucked Konoha, flipping through a magazine. “Where’s captain?” 

“I’m not sure,” he pulled off his pants hurriedly, “he must be running late.” 

“Well,” scoffed Konoha, “that’s no surprise, he probably failed another test or something. How about you though, Akaashi-kun? We can’t have the vice captain following in the captain’s footsteps, right?” 

He stopped, thought, frowned at the thought. “I’m not – ”

But bang went the door, and as if thick oil had coated the underside of his tongue, he found no way to finish that sentence. “Akaaaashi! Look what I found!” He slammed down the paper, ripped at the corners and stained with blue inky palm prints. Bokuto turned, grin wide on his face and cheeks flushed. “We totally have to go.” 

Thick, thick oil, the sort that slipped into each crevice in the sidewalk and became a waxy black, impossible to remove. He struggled to stop staring, forget the oil, give anything besides a giddy affirmative. 

“Okay,” he smoothed down his shirt, returned to a poker face. “It’s not a bad idea. How about we all meet under the poplar tree?”

And they all nodded, because who said no to a summer festival? 

He decided to not wear a yukata that year, opting for a shirt and a pair of shorts. As easily as the year before, he found the poplar tree and the people beneath it. He surveyed them, the people he’d finally allowed himself to call his friends, laughing, jabbing each other, talking absent mindedly. Yet, he noticed he could also easily pick out the nervous first years, standing on the sidelines of the group, picking at their yukatas and sending fleeting panicked glances towards one another. Trying their damndest to entice the elders, failing as often as they succeeded. How had he ever thought they’d fit in perfectly a mere year ago? 

He chuckled at himself. The boy with indents running down his fingers and even bigger doubts running about his mind. 

And then he noticed something else, a glint of light that caught his eye and wouldn’t fade away. Bokuto, pushing his way between the first years, talking to them as animatedly as he did to anyone else. Bokuto, clapping them on the back and smiling a smile he couldn’t imagine fit anyone else. Bokuto, the light to his shadow, because he didn’t care what the statement implied. 

He wondered what would have happened if Bokuto’d never talked to him that night. He wondered if shadows became thick and waxy, stinking of petroleum, if they never managed to find their light. 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto ran over, yukata dragging on the ground behind him. “You made it!” 

Right, he thought, stop overthinking, as Bokuto slipped an arm around his shoulders. He inched away, but Bokuto only hung onto the front of his shirt tighter. “As opposed to getting lost on my way here? Thank you, I suppose.”

“Aw, Kaashi, I didn’t mean it that way you know!” He looked excitedly towards one stall to the next, inhaling the tumult and anticipation of the entire place. “So, what should we do first?” 

“…Let’s get some food.” 

“Of course,” muttered Konoha, him and Komi sharing a look. Out they shuffled, third years and Akaashi leading the way, first years struggling to hold up the back of the pack. They’d stop and stare at the line of booths, dreamy and enticing, find themselves alone, run to catch up and regain the others. Chuckle embarrassedly, rub at the back of their heads. 

Bokuto followed his gaze, hot cotton candy breath grazing the inside of Akaashi’s ear. “Hey, do you remember last year!?” 

He winced. How could he forget? “Yeah, I was a dumb kid and I was too scared to do anything about it. Why bring it up?” 

Bokuto snickered, glint in his eye. “No reason. I thought you were pretty cute, like a little kid without his mom. All the others were always following us around, so I had a bunch of chances to talk to them, which was super cool, by the way.” He scratched at his chin fondly. “But then again, I really wanted to talk to you too, but I turned around and you were gone! And I found you again and you looked so happy! I gotta say, I was super surprised, I didn’t think you liked me all that much.” 

“Didn’t you just stumble upon me?” 

“Well, kinda.” But he didn’t elaborate and Akaashi didn’t think he had to. Soon enough, the din of the festival had drowned them all out and Bokuto’s arm fell off his shoulder as he ran to try a new type of festival food and Akaashi was a bit cold despite the heat. 

He wasn’t sure how he found himself alone again, arms full of food staring down at an empty and quite familiar bench. The circumstances were quite different, they’d lost Bokuto and Yukie to the food stalls, and then Konoha had stomped away when he said he wanted to frequent more of them. In any case, he found it funny different paths had led to the same place. Maybe invisible ribbons traced the festival grounds, and he’d unconsciously followed them both nights. Ended up sitting alone on the very same bench, looking up into the same sky. 

No stars again, huh? 

“Ah! This really is deja zu, isn’t it!?” Bokuto pointed, shrieked, ran over from a booth nearby. “I’m seriously spooked, you know?”

“I believe it’s déjà vu, Bokuto-san.” Two children played with a sparkler nearby, smiles wide and unassuming. Akaashi grinned. “But yes, you’d be correct.” 

He sat and they settled into a comfortable silence, something that Bokuto was very rarely capable of. Akaashi licked at an ice cream cone, slowly and carefully. Were they waiting for fireworks? Was it the telltale hush already? 

It’d been a long year since the last fireworks, the ones they’d missed. He changed a lot since then, and from what he’d heard, so had Bokuto. He’d met Kuroo, properly this time, and Tsukishima, and Hinata and the rest of Karasuno. They’d been to Nationals. They’d become captain and vice captain. They’d become ace and setter. They’d… 

He’d…

It suddenly occurred to him this would be their last festival together, even though it was only their second. And he couldn’t place the feeling. The one that made his heart swell and breathing feel shot, too fast for his body. 

When had admiration mutated into this, a shudder that passed through his body and forced words from his mouth? 

“Thanks for everything, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi looked down at his hands, empty cone, even as Bokuto turned and studied the side of his face. “I’ve said it already, but I guess I…” 

“… I don’t know why you’re always thanking me,” Bokuto started. “I have just as much to thank you for. I don’t know why you always overthink, either. I think that, hey, are you listening?!” He grabbed Akaashi’s face, turning it so that he had nowhere to look besides in the other’s eyes. 

“Better,” nodded Bokuto, unknitting his eyebrows but keeping his hands, sticky and hot, firmly planted. He sighed, kept searching his eyes. “…I don’t really get you, Akaashi.”

“T-there’s nothing to get.” He flicked his gaze back and forth between a corner of the tarp and Bokuto’s face. But there was a solid mass in his throat and why was it so quiet, why was he looking at him so intently, and the mass was crawling its way through the rest of his body, making the tips of his fingers icicles. 

That was all there was. The lump, the low murmur of the crowd, the fireworks that weren’t flying, and the way that Bokuto’s face was slowly softening.

He was shifting his hands, firm hold faltering into a gentle caress, tactile fingers exploring the angles of Akaashi’s jawbone, the curls of the matted hair at the back of his neck. And Akaashi couldn’t move. But Bokuto, seemingly possessed could. Gazing down at his lips, toying with the collar of his shirt, leaning in. 

So be it, he thought, eyes fluttering shut. Possess me too. 

Bang. There went the fireworks, which he wasn’t seeing but he was feeling, deep in the pit of his chest. Echoing, thumping away. But he felt nothing else, and the hands fell off his face, and when he opened his eyes, looking up through thick lashes, Bokuto had stumbled back and clasped a hand over his mouth. 

“S-sorry!” he shouted over the fireworks. The cartons were lying scattered on the floor, and his ice cream cone had slipped from his hand and neither knew what to say. “I have no… I don’t know what came over me! Really!” 

Akaashi nodded knowingly. Waited for a lapse in the cheers of the crowd, and then, still twiddling his fingers, asked as casually as possible, “Want to go to the fishing booth?” 

Bokuto, crimson having risen to his cheekbones, as if a trip to the booth would erase any memory of what had just happened, yelled as loud as he could. “That’s a great idea, Akaashi!” And once more, they’d found themselves under an unimpressive sign written in blue bubbly letters. 

Akaashi paid the 200 yen, handed over paddles. “Thanks!” Bokuto beamed, adjusting his yukata once more. “I’ll totally catch another fish this year!” 

“Yeah,” grinned Akaashi, “I’m sure you will.” 

And so he did, even with the way he was thrusting his paddles into the basin erratically, scattering fish in every which direction. A pale gold lethargic seeming fish. fact, it looked kind of like-

“Doesn’t this sorta remind you of Tsukki?” 

“Yes, it does look like Tsukishima. Though it needs the glasses, I believe.” 

“Ha!” snorted Bokuto, “you’re right. I’ll have to make some out of pipe cleaners or something. We should let him and Kuroo meet each other, that’d be funny. Oh yeah, how is Kuroo anyways?! I forgot all about him!” 

Kuroo was a feisty little fish, and now that Akaashi had some understanding of how the real Kuroo worked, he could definitely see the resemblance. Akaashi’d moved him to a bigger tank a month or so after the original festival, and since then he’d only gotten worse. He’d shuffle into the ferns when Akaashi was around, eat food hours after he’d dropped it into the tank, only touch him when he was trying to clean the tank. Akaashi wondered how a fish could be such a pain in the ass. But, in a begrudging sort of way, he loved the little thing. 

“Oh, Kuroo. He…” He’d let the silence persist far too long, and the inane thoughts were rising to his head again. He wished the fireworks hadn’t interrupted them, he wished this wasn’t their last festival together, he wished they had more time. But even festival ribbons got frayed, and his oozed fingers couldn’t hold on to the tatters much longer. 

Or they could, if he created them himself, dazzling and infinite and slick with oil black as ebony. “…He got sick and died. A while ago, actually.” 

Bokuto gasped, eyes widened. “No! Not Kuroo!” 

“Yes,” Akaashi continued, “but I still have the tank, and I’m sure that I’ll try harder if I ever get another fish.” He waited for the words to sink in.

“…You want Tsukki?! I’ll give you Tsukki! I’m not sure what I would even do with him, really. I don’t have a tank or anything.” Bokuto quirked an eyebrow in anticipation. Akaashi pretended to consider it. “C’mon Akaashi, accept a gift from your senpai! You’ll let me come see him anytime, right? Can’t forget about him like I did with Kuroo!” 

“Yeah,” Akaashi picked up the plastic bag, and raised his hand in a wave, “he’ll be waiting for you.” 

He added Tsukki to the tank that night, snorted when Kuroo started to terrorize the younger fish. Two fish, two festival nights. He couldn’t really complain. 

But he did feel a little melancholic.


	3. Year 3

There was the poster, he sighed. Flush with the same shadows and sharp creased lines as the year before. Years before, he corrected. 

He stood in the hallway, waiting for the sun to sink or the urge to pass or anything at all to fucking happen. But nothing did, and he sighed once more, dutifully writing down the details. Then he stumbled off to the club room, feet heavy and unwieldy. 

The club room was already packed with team members, joking among themselves, trading knowing grins and useless gossip. Onaga hopped over, mouth curling into a grin. The boy’d become a bit more confident in the past year, and Akaashi couldn’t say he wasn’t proud. 

“Late today, captain? That’s rare.” 

“Indeed,” he picked up the schedule, flipping through it. “Something caught my eye.” He threw a sidelong glance to the door. No one was throwing it open, barging it in, tossing a weight across his back. A pang in his heart. Not acute, but incessant.

“Really? What’s that?” Onaga was muttering, rambling. Was the door shifting or was it only the clouds shifting across the sun? Perhaps the glitter, bits of dust, forming a mirage? Or his heart playing tricks on him? Incessant. 

…Damn it, he thought, pulling his hands through his hair, he was waiting for something that wouldn’t happen. He was waiting for disks of gold and crumpled fliers and blue inky palm prints and what sort of idiot really believed repetition was more than just coincidence? He kneaded his fingers, pulled out a cleanly folded piece of lined paper. 

Spread it on the bench and turned towards Onaga unassumingly. “What do you think of going to that summer festival again?”

Onaga’s eyes widened in surprise. Was such an invitation so shocking? Did Akaashi really do this sort of thing so rarely? He cleared his throat, motioned to the rest of the crowd. “Do you guys want to go to a festival this week?” He had to claim his spot as Captain at some point, and it was a good enough time to start. 

He was the first under the poplar tree, and he didn’t know what to do besides fiddle with the button in his pocket. At the graduation ceremony, Bokuto’d fumbled with the thing, dropped it, spent the rest of the evening searching for it. Why, Akaashi’d asked, not one to cry but having felt the stinging at his eyes the, coldness in his fingers, why do you care so much about some stupid button? 

Cause it’s the second button, and I’ve gotta give it to someone special! He’d burrowed into a bush distractedly. 

Akaashi had watched, head spinning and hours winding down, caring less about the button and more about who exactly it was intended for. 

He’d watched until he couldn’t stop the damn tears from streaming down his face, his chin, landing in shadowy patches of grass. 

The first and second years had begun to gather around, and he nodded at them in acknowledgement. One of the first years, Andou, quirked his mouth into an uneasy grimace, and took a step towards Akaashi. Then, promptly, one back. His friend chuckled, kneed him in the back. Akaashi watched, waited for the fumbling, dreamy eyed first year to gather up the courage and ask him whatever question he had. 

But he fell back, fingers curled tight around the hem of his yukata and Akaashi pretended he’d never seen, because he was neither Bokuto nor the kind of captain he’d been. He hadn’t realized how hard it’d be to forgo the passive role, hadn’t realized how much there really was to the captain role beyond bookkeeping and policing. 

Or he had. He certainly had, and had chosen to not acknowledge it in hopes of owing no more to the person he already owed so much to. Oh well, fell the button into the recesses of his pocket, it was fine like that too. 

He wrinkled his eyebrows in thought. He’d expected to be held more accountable in his third year, but it seemed he’d once again lost the rest of the group. To the food booths, to the attractions, to their real friends. And he’d found himself in a familiar location, strangely enough. He looked down at the bench, still there, shifting in and out of colorful flashing lights. 

You again? He grimaced, again considering the ribbons of the festival, the inky shadows that drew jagged lines across his pale skin. The coincidence and the ache and the frayed ends. Perhaps it was fate after all. 

He’d wander across desolate lands, following ribbons only he could see forever. Searching for something he’d let slip from his own fingers, sink further and further into the inky sea. And eventually, thinking he’d found it again, latch on. Only to have the world turn on its head and snigger in his face, because shadows can’t hold anything in their slippery tendrils. Much less something as lustrous as that… 

No good, he was overthinking again. 

But rightfully so, he considered, taking a seat. How the past repeated itself and how different it felt each time. 

The fireworks were soon, he contemplated. And the crowd was forming, thick and animated, bathed in the lights of the festival. He quirked a smile. He’d been trying to smile more, laugh more, live more. And he felt happy for them, even if his lips were shaking and he couldn’t keep his hands still. Really, he did. 

…But if he did happen to have one wish, a single selfish wish for fate… it was for the sky to be full of stars that night. He wanted to look up and see the sky full of stars, streaked with whites and silvers, and gasp in awe. Childish perhaps, because who else besides a child thought of the stars as the physical manifestation of dreams and hope? Who else saw a sky full of stars and thought of a single person, an unwavering smile?

Please, he prayed. To the festival, fate, whatever. 

But he gazed up into a sky dark as coal, dotted with nothing but wisps of clouds. And no one tapped on his shoulder but there were the fireworks bursting far overhead, blooming into big, spotted flowers. The crowd was raising its voice, cheering, and Akaashi couldn’t pull his eyes from the fireworks he’d never seen before. And down his cheeks the tears streamed again. 

Who knew fireworks could be so sad?

Huh, he reasoned, as the reds and blues blurred in and out, he’d never seen how they’d looked on gold after all. 

He decided, against his best will, that he wanted to visit the fishing booth once more. He hadn’t caught a fish before, but for the sake of the festival, he wanted to give it a try again. Handing the stall owner 100 yen, he rolled up his sleeves and tried swishing the paddle through the water. No luck, he figured as he pulled it out broken, his fourth try ratted away. 

He could almost sense Bokuto over his shoulder, breath brushing against the skin of his cheek. Chiding him for being too careful, motioning to the paddles, miming an erratic thrusting motion. And Akaashi thought he’d listen for once, give it a try because what else had he to lose? 

Imagine his astonishment when he pulled out a fish, scales silvery blue in the feeble moonlight. When the stall owner bagged it for him and handed it over and Akaashi couldn’t think of anyone to thank besides someone who wasn’t even there. 

He held up the fish to the light. Even so, laggard and tiny, it did kind of remind him of…

“C-Captain?” called an uncertain voice from behind him, one Akaashi recognized as Andou’s. 

“Oh, Andou-kun.” He rubbed his hands across his eyes, hoping they weren’t swollen, more pink than green, and put down the bagged fish gently. “Nice to see you. What did you think of the festival?” 

He laughed nervously, kicking at a stone. “I had a good time, I ate a lot, played a lot of games, uhh…” He knotted his eyebrows in thought. “That’s about it. What about you, captain?” 

“Yeah, I saw the fireworks, ate a ton of food and caught this little guy here. Not bad at all.” Andou kept his eyes pointed towards the ground, but Akaashi could feel him silently urging him on. “I’m glad you and your friends could have fun. My first festival was a pretty special one.” 

“Oh, them,” he rubbed at the back of his head, “they’re not really my friends. I mean, they’re nice guys, but I don’t think they care much for me.” 

Akaashi pursed his lips, eyed the fish once more. “…You know, I’m going to add this little guy to my fish tank. I’m naming him Bokuto.” 

“Bokuto?” Andou met his eyes. “Isn’t that the name of the former captain?” 

“Yeah, it is.” He chuckled at the other’s confusion. “It reminds me of him, you know. For what it’s worth, he was a great captain. Probably the best Fukurodani’s ever had.” 

Andou’s eyes widened. “Better than you too, captain?” And Akaashi’s heart stuttered, because he’d never really thought about it. Perhaps he hadn’t been doing that bad after all. 

“That’s what I thought too,” he spoke after the silence had settled, crickets filling the emptiness. “That nobody cared about me much, that first festival night. And then I met Bokuto. And he was… well, he was him. We were very different, of course. He was energetic, always smiling, a great guy all around. Of course, I took care of the paperwork in those days too…” 

And the night wore on, and the Akaashi felt like he’d talked forever, but there was Andou hanging onto every word. Waiting for the moon to peak from behind the clouds and Akaashi to keep spinning his tales like spider silk that blinked with its reflections.

\---

He’d forgotten all about the button when he turned and saw Akaashi struggling to stifle his sobs, sleeves hiding his patchy, red cheeks. He’d been shocked into silence, and Akaashi couldn’t help but repeat that looking for the button anymore was pointless, it was lost, who cared anyways? 

A-Akaashi, what’s wrong? He stuttered, jumping around. Look, you want me to do my impression of Saru? Komi? Yukie? But regardless how Bokuto moved his face and hands, Akaashi shook his head and refused to look at him. 

This is our last day together, and you’re worrying about a button? He finally struggled out. I don’t even get it, why do you need that button so badly? 

Bokuto sighed, understanding something Akaashi didn’t, pulled off his jacket. Wait a second, he murmured and Akaashi opened his eyes again, looked up through the opaqueness. You know, he continued, I’m surprised you don’t know about the second button. You give it to the person you love, cause it’s the closest thing to your heart. 

But damn it! This isn’t how I wanted it to go. He pulled out Akaashi’s hand, placed the button in it, though it was the first button and he’d ripped it from his jacket sloppily. I knew from the first festival. Or, haha, he scratched at his head, I like to think I did. Whatever, it doesn’t matter now does it? 

Akaashi shook his head, stuffed his hand into his pocket. And let the button drop. 

Fall all the way when Bokuto grabbed his face and smashed his lips against Akaashi’s. 

\---

He called Bokuto later that night, positively elated. He answered, groggy and voice sounding like he’d been chewing on marbles. “’Kashi? What’s up?” 

“I caught a fish at the festival. I thought you might want to know.”

Shuffling of bedsheets, cracking of joints. “Oh, I can finally come see the fish tank!?” He was intrigued, too loud. “How’s Tsukki? I’ve been wondering all this time!” 

“Of course,” grinned Akaashi, watching the three fish skip and bound through the tank, “you can come over whenever.” 

“Yeah?!” the bed springs squeaked, “I totally, totally will! But hey, what changed your mind so suddenly? You’ve never let me see the tank!” 

Akaashi didn’t have one clear answer. An ‘I realized I loved you’ or anything as simple. Instead, he had blunt and shattered fragments, some of which he hadn’t figured out how to piece together yet.

“I saw the fireworks. And I went to the fish booth alone.” He played with his fingers. “And I guess I kind of escaped the ribbons of the festival.” 

But regardless how much Bokuto moaned and complained, Akaashi refused to explain what he’d meant. It’d taken him three years to figure out himself.


	4. Year ___

“You know, I still don’t get why you didn’t tell me Kuroo lived,” pouted Bokuto, crouching beside the fish tank. “And I don’t mean the real one, cause he’s like immortal or something.” 

“I’d think so,” answered Akaashi, putting away the fish food, “after everything you two have done together, I’m surprised as well. You must be immortal too, Bokuto-san.” 

“Aww c’mon babe, drop the ‘-san’ already.” He meandered over, peering into the cabinets. “What are we having tonight? Ramen?” 

Akaashi shrugged, ignored the hands running up the contours of his waist. “I don’t care, just make sure it’s a good place. Cheap is good too, I’m pretty hungry.” 

Bokuto exhaled exasperatedly. “When aren’t you hungry? It’s like a, huh, I was gonna say a panda but you don’t remind me of one. Maybe an emu? They eat a lot too.” 

Akaashi wiped off his hands, and stepped out of the other’s grasp. “That must be the most idiotic notion I’ve ever heard.” He took a second glance at the fish tank, the three fish flitting in and out of the colorful reefs. “…To answer that first question, I thought that it was a good way to keep you for myself.”

Bokuto plopped down on the couch. “Lying about fish?” He screwed up his eyebrows in thought, tilted his head. “I don’t get it.” 

But Akaashi, tilting his head too, couldn’t say he did either. In the haze of those three years, loud and clear blazed the festivals, bright and magical and terribly, terribly melancholic each year. And somehow, he'd had these notions, these impossibly crazy notions… 

“It was something about fate and how I felt we were repeating the same thing every year. And the first year’d been great, but somehow, it was slipping from my fingers. So, I guess I thought I had to lie to keep it going.” He stopped twiddling with his fingers when he saw the look in the other’s eyes. Attentive and unassuming. He smiled lightly, recalling how that look’d made his heart leap the first time around. “You know what, I had a lot of inane thoughts and I’m not sure how many of them make sense anymore. Let’s just say I was overthi-”

“You were always overthinking! You still do!” 

“Well, yes, but not as much as I once did. Say what you will, it got me three fish.” 

Bokuto tapped on the glass. “And you named this little runt after me? How the hell does he remind you of me?!” The fish scurried behind a fern at the impact. “Look at that, he’s running away. C’mon, little dude, you gotta be braver!” 

“She, and she’s actually- ”

“Aw, c’mon, are you kidding?!” 

Akaashi shook his head and sighed. “It doesn’t really matter, she’s just a fish that shares your name. Besides, Kuroo's a female and he doesn’t mind.” He sat on the couch, resting his legs on the other’s lap. “I don’t know. I was lonely, it just kind of happened.” 

“Ohoho, were you?” Bokuto grinned a thousand-Watt smile. Akaashi rolled his eyes and stood, stretching his legs. 

“I was, you kissed me and then left, what do you expect?” He pouted, and Akaashi felt a little bad. “It’s fine, that’s a story for a different day. Let’s go out already, it’s getting dark.” And Bokuto jumped off the couch, trailing Akaashi out of the room without, miraculously, forgetting to turn out the lights. 

Maybe it was the night, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Bokuto rubbing circles up his spine, but he was thinking about the poster again. Its frayed edges, bright and swirling colors, the date, small and diffident right in the corner… And speaking of which, though he hadn’t thought about it in the longest time, he did remember the date. 

June the 17th. 

“Bokuto-san, what is the date?” 

“Hm?” he put a hand to his chin in thought, the lamplight drowning his face in gold. “I think it’s the 17th. Why?” 

“…No reason,” but already he was looking to the sky for glittering lanterns, colorful fireworks. “Do you believe in magic? Magical festivals, maybe?” 

“Magic?!” He grinned smugly. “Akaashi, how much have you had to drink? You never say things like that!” 

And he thought so too. They were wandering down familiar streets, a buzz growing around them, and of course magic wasn’t real. Maybe in an abstract sense, in the same way stars were hopes and dreams to the most cynical of people. “I’m glad I met you.” They were passing under an arch, flush with red and blue. “Really, really glad.” 

Bokuto reddened, propping him up better. “Where’s this all from, babe!? You’re scaring me you know!” But Akaashi was snaking a hand into the other’s, blowing hot breath into his ear. 

“Thanks for bringing me here again.” 

Bokuto's laugh echoed, coarse and thick with glee, and he squeezed his hand. “I knew you’d love it, Keiji.” 

They called the new tiny, orange fish, predictably, Hinata. And when Bokuto asked how many fish they had left to add to the tank, Akaashi admitted he didn’t know. There was the rest of Fukurodani, Nekoma, all the people they’d met and the ones they’d yet to meet. And Bokuto, smiling, said they’d go to as many festivals as it took. Spend as many years as it took. 

What if it took forever? Akaashi tried, playing into the magic of the night. 

Then, forever, replied Bokuto, placing a kiss on his cheek, if that’s how long it’ll take. 

And Akaashi couldn’t think of a better way to spend all of eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know Akaashi is way ooc, but that's sort of how I like to imagine him in first year, haha. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed! I think this is one of my favorites I've written thus far. <3


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